Froid

Cold, the way people look at each other
Cold, the sad diamonds on our fingers
Cold, bodies sleeping in the four winds
The steel of the guns still burning.

Straight, at right angles are the feelings
Cold, like a Mondrian painting
Cold, despite the warming
The endless blue of the oceans

The world gives me chills down my spine
Cold under my sweaters and coats
And then I lie down next to you
And naked, I’m no longer cold
The world gives me chills down my spine
A cold that could take down the birds
And then the softness of your hands
And summer comes back to me.

Cold, too often the breath of time
Cold, these words we've heard a hundred times
These promises of forever
That vanish in an instant

Cold, the dreams that life offers us
Cold, the happiness that money makes
Cross, made of iron wood
And if we lie, may hell burn us gently.